


Half-Light

by marimoes



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Circle Mages, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Canon, Templar Abuse, Young Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-02
Updated: 2020-08-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25671280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: Anders' heart presses against the folds of cotton on his sleeve, and as Karl again comes back weary—it bleeds. Hidden away from light and eyes, the two mages sit with hands clasped together in something far more than prayer. They are healed not only with magic, but with touches, kisses, and promises of tomorrow murmured against worn robes.
Relationships: Anders & Karl Thekla, Anders/Karl Thekla
Comments: 3
Kudos: 8





	Half-Light

Karl’s gone too long. 

He’s gone too long, too many times, in too short a span this week. Each time he returns it’s with a sullen face and eyes that speak words he never wants to say. But he does speak them to Anders, if only after a short exchange of silence. They’re said in hushed tones, tucked away into the corner of the library where the templar don’t often check. Each one more gruesome than the last, coated in apologies that never should be given. It isn’t his fault. None of it is, nor will it ever be. 

Karl is only being who he was created as. His only crime is existing, and for Anders and many others, that sentence also looms. It’s a judgment he has tried to escape many times under many moons. Only to be found by blood. Blood of all things. Blood that they fear and wave in front of the mages. Making claims that if not careful, they could fall prey to the magic within it. That their mentalities are too weak to resist power that is held within their veins—only to then use it themselves. 

Anders does not want to use blood magic. He wants to be nothing like the hands that hold him tight before they toss him back into his room. “Room” being a funny word for what he technically has. Four stone walls, no windows, and a bed that is just barely so. Just enough so that when the Templar pray to the Maker that night they can say they’ve done  _ something _ . 

He knows it’s supposed to deter him. To warn him of something worse that could come should he try to escape again. But how can he not try when he sees that look in Karl’s eyes? When the words that murmur over bitten lips drip with tears, how can he rest? 

Karl’s hands have marks and scars, and though he is talented in his own right, he cannot heal himself. Not the way that Anders can. When his hands cover Karl’s, pushing warmth into a shaking palm, he tries his hardest to keep focused. His eyes beg to flit out into the hall in fear, but the feeling of Karl’s breath weak against him ensures otherwise. Anders’ eyes will stay on him until he’s better. 

Better. 

Will they ever achieve such a thing in a place like this? Or will they end up like so many others, here until their last caged breath. For some this place is simply what it is supposed to be: a place to control and instruct magic. At least for a while, until they are taken for the first time. Pulled into a room and sapped of all energy that rests in their bones before being held and insured they are no threat. It’s as if they’re a dangerous animal that could snap at any time, so they must be placed behind bars to be watched instead. 

Anders knows many that will not bite, but given the chance his canines are filed. 

When energy comes back to Karl, slowly given and received, Anders doesn’t stop. His hands sit unmoved from where they hold onto scarred skin with nails pushing alongside of them making indentations of irritation. He will give what he can. He will bleed himself dry. If only to see the man within his hold be a fraction of himself once more. 

Soft lips press suddenly against Anders’ in a silent debate. They tell him that Karl does not want him to do this, yet he allows him to continue. His kiss also asks Anders to relax, tells him that Karl is here and that he’s alright now, thanks to him. 

Undeterred, Anders’ sleeve bound heart bleeds willingly. 

With their foreheads pressed together, the mages breathe softly. Each inhale a struggle as it tries to figure out what to be within their lungs. A cry? A laugh of exhaustion? But it will be none of those things, as anything more than swallowed away will cause them trouble. It’s been more than several minutes now, and they both know they’ve been out of sight for too long. 

Surely templar are already looking for him, but Anders wants more. 

More time, more touches, more hope that there is a world out there that he could do what he knows he’s meant to. To have a purpose of healing in a place that does harm is no more than a sick joke from the Maker that made him. Laughable even, that his hands can bring solace to wounds but never hearts. Against his better judgement, Anders always goes a step further, and each time the knife is placed in his own heart, it twists a little more.

Karl steadies himself against Anders as they stand before walking back around the bookshelf into the light once more. Their fingers ghost against each other, fingertips pressing as hard as they can with so little contact in a silent prayer. It isn’t until they see others sitting on the floor with books stacked high around them, do they part. 

Though this place may be a nightmare, there are still parts that feel like a dream. The feather-light feeling of lips against his own keeps Anders up long past lights out. It leaves him staring up into stone, eyes fluttering as he begs to stay awake. Darkness bends against his affection, makes him warm and glowing like a small spell wisp, and creates something new. Even burdened with fear and uncertainty, it hovers against him, half in and out of this world. 

The next morning, Anders watches as a templar’s eyes narrow at him after stopping Karl only moments before. It’s then that he knows that his next escape must be soon. And when he spies another mage, eyes soft with exhaustion as they sink further in their chair, his heart bleeds a little more. Weeping into crooked lines out of his stained sleeve. 

But the next time Anders makes an attempt to leave, he won’t be alone. 

He and Karl will be together with hands locked in a promise as they pull themselves up against the shore of the lake. The sun will rise on their skin, no longer filtered through stained glass lies and promises. There will be no half-light, only whole warmth, shedding fear off of their shoulders like an old worn robe stained with far more than blood. And from there they’ll run, searching for their place against this earth that doesn’t bar them for simply existing. 

Their lungs drawing in breaths that will no longer be held, but rather they’ll lead to laughs, sighs, and sobs all open and unrestrained into the air around them. They’ll be free, happy, and with new clean cloth wrapped around old wounds, they’ll be together. 


End file.
